


Being Alive

by i_amnerd



Category: The West Wing
Genre: AU, Angst, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Friendship, M/M, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2377499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_amnerd/pseuds/i_amnerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'somebody hold me too close, somebody force me to care, somebody make me come through, I'll always be there, as frightened as you of being alive'- Stephen Sondheim</p>
<p>AU of season six onwards. After joining Santos' campaign, Josh suddenly quits and goes to California.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All stats quoted are correct as of July 2014 (obviously this fic is set sometime in the mid-noughties so they're not correct for the time).

"Hi Sam."

"Josh. What are you doing in my front room?"

"It's nice to see you too. Why aren't you at work?"

"I quit. Why're you here?"

"I.. may also have quit."

"What?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Sam stared at his friend for a second then nodded once, silently making his way to the back door and onto the wooden veranda. He sat down on the edge, mug of coffee in one hand, bare feet skimming the sand. There was a thump behind him as Josh dropped his bags and then the sound of the sliding door opening. A moment later it slid closed and Josh was sitting beside him. There was an intake of breath as he took in the view, then, "What happened, Sam?"

"I..." Sam took a deep, supposedly steadying breath. It didn't feel particularly steadying, "I may have lost it for a little while and then..." He shrugged as if it was no big deal, "I quit." Talking about his big, emotional mental breakdown really hadn't been on his list of things to do that day, "After... after I lost, I was okay for a while. Then it was all too much and I couldn't deal with it and everything was just too hard and... I quit."

"When was this?"

"A couple of days ago."

Josh breathed out sharply, "Wow."

"Yeah. You were top of my list of people to call, I promise. I just... haven't gotten around to it yet."

"Are you..? How are..?" Josh stopped, "Wow."

"Yeah."

"Have you called Toby?"

"I haven't called anyone, Josh. Remember? I just said you were the top of the list."

"Oh. Yeah. You should call Toby."

"I will."

"Okay." There was a beat of silence, then, "California's not as sunny as I remember."

"It's winter."

"Oh."

Sam turned to look at his friend. Josh's hair didn't seem wilder than usual but that wasn't saying much. His clothes were rumpled but that was par for the course. The bags under his eyes and the slump of his shoulders wasn't that surprising but it was enough, "What's going on?" He asked softly.

"I quit."

"You said."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I just... Santos is... he's great, maybe even the real thing but... it's not the same. I'm not as passionate about it as I used to be." Josh looked down at his trainers, then back up at Sam, "I missed you."

For a while after that, it was quiet. All Sam could hear was Josh's quiet, steady breathing beside him and the ocean, crashing wave upon wave against the sandy shore. Josh's strong silence contrasted sharply with the destructive power before them and Sam felt sick.

"You missed me?" He finally asked, frowning when his voice betrayed him, cracking sharply on 'me'.

"Yeah." Josh blew out a sharp breath, blowing on his hands and rubbing them together. He would have stamped his feet as well if not for the strong probability that it would send sand flying up into their faces, "Can we go inside? It's cold."

Sam stayed a step behind Josh as they walked inside. As he closed the door behind them, he said quietly, "Did you know that the World Health Organisation estimates that around one million people commit suicide every year?"

Josh turned to look at him, "No. I... I didn't know that. Sam..."

"The Department of Health and Human Services says that at least ninety percent of them suffer from a mental disorder. Depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, alcoholism..." Sam interrupted, then trailed off, his wide blue eyes lost and helpless. Then he swallowed and continued, "They think that depression's particularly important. It causes distorted thinking and that makes it difficult to imagine another solution to suffering.' Sam looked desperate and Josh felt panic begin to gnaw on the edges of his mind.

"Sam... What... What're you trying to tell me?"

"I don't know. I don't know, Josh. I... Are you staying?"

"I thought I might do, yeah."

"Okay. That... Yeah. Okay."

Josh picked up his bags and made for the guest room. The house looked about the same as when Sam had first bought it. He'd shown Josh around, an eager grin on his face, bouncing around like a puppy trying desperately to get his master's approval. Josh wondered if it had maybe been a subconscious cry for help. Just because Sam thought he was okay, it didn't mean that he was okay and that scared Josh a lot.

The place was neat, almost scarily so. It didn't seem like the home of someone suffering from depression but then Sam had always been a neat freak. It's possible that this was messy to him. Josh didn't think so, however, and he reckoned he'd known Sam for long enough to tell.

It felt as if they'd been apart for several lifetimes and yet there was something so familiar about Sam yelling up the stairs to ask if he wanted coffee. He replied in the affirmative, the tone of his voice suggesting that Sam had to be insane to even begin to question that.

Dumping his bags on the big double bed that consumed most of the guest room, Josh noted with a smile that the bed was already made even though his arrival had been unannounced. That was Sam through and through. Conscientious to the last.

Sam grinned at him as he made his way back downstairs and for a moment it felt as if the world might be beginning to right itself. They were back together and Sam suddenly seemed more like Sam.

"I missed you too."

The moment the words left Sam's mouth, Josh found himself involuntarily moving in for a hug. He wrapped his arms around the younger man and after a few moments, Sam reciprocated. Josh felt like he would be quite happy to never let go and found himself saying as much out loud. Sam laughed and reminded him that, nice though the thought was, it would be rather detrimental to any future coffee consumption. Josh glared at him but reluctantly let go, heading for the kitchen in search of the as-yet-mythical coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam's kitchen was not very Sam-ish, Josh decided. The top half of the walls were painted a bright white with the bottom half covered in stunning, dark blue, Mediterranean-esque tiles. The cupboards were painted black and the finishings were all chrome. There was an aga, a microwave that looked as if it was rarely used and a dishwasher.

The whole ensemble was sparse and modern and chic. None of these were traits that Sam could, at any point in his life, have laid claim to. It looked like the kitchen of a high powered executive lawyer and Josh couldn't help but frown. Sam seemed perfectly at home but there was something incongruent about his scruffy jeans and old, comfortable black sweater in such a kitchen.

Josh slid onto a stool at the breakfast bar as Sam poured coffee into two large, thick mugs, each with the White House emblem on the side. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

"This is good." Josh said as he eagerly took a swallow of the hot, strong liquid. Whilst the state of the art Italian coffee maker sat in the corner was another thing that didn't seem very Sam, he had to admit that it was a welcome presence.

"You, my friend, are an addict." Sam informed him good naturedly.

"Pot, meet kettle." Josh said with a grin, gesturing towards Sam's own steaming beverage.

"Touché.'

They sat in comfortable silence for a while until Sam suddenly said, "I have to go shopping."

"Okay." Josh thought for a second. He didn't think either of them should be alone. Sam had been alone for far too long. "I'll come with you."

"Okay."

Not for the first time, it occurred to Josh that the White House staffers, at least those from the Bartlett administration, possibly overused the word 'okay'. It was the standard reply to everything because anything else would take so much more time that they usually didn't have. To an outsider, that one word wouldn't mean very much but between themselves it had the potential to be so nuanced as to convey whole paragraphs of unsaid speech.

This particular utterance revealed to Josh more of Sam's state of mind than the younger man would have wished. It stank of relief. Josh had said that he was intending to stay but it wouldn't mean very much until he actually did. Now he was there, Sam very much didn't want to let him out of his sight.

Trailing behind Sam, Josh found himself wandering around a local supermarket in a daze, thoughts whirling around his brain at lightspeed. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing that he had anyone's brain but his own. Sam stopped suddenly and Josh rammed into him from behind.

"I knew you weren't paying attention." Sam said, laughing softly as Josh rubbed his now bruised forehead.

"Sorry... I, uh, was thinking about what you said earlier."

The grin on Sam's face vanished with a mostly metaphorical but almost audible thud, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, you know, I... We should talk about this later." He examined the vegetables in front of which they seemed to have stopped, "You know what we should also do? We should get eggplants. I like eggplants. And noodles! Noodles are good."

Sam allowed him to deflect the conversation, although he was significantly more subdued than he had been as they loaded groceries into his car. There hadn't been much in his fridge or his cupboards except for what Josh had described as a 'metric fuckload' of coffee, along with two boxes of cereal and a tin of beans.

When Josh had fixed him with an accusing stare, he'd muttered something about mental breakdowns not leaving a lot of room for eating and then proceeded to buy what felt like half the store in compensation. Admitting that his mental breakdown was such had been hard and he felt the need to keep acknowledging it to stop himself from sliding back into denial.

Talking about suicide was another matter. Sam wasn't sure why he'd mentioned the statistics to Josh. Exactly what the point in looking them up had been, he didn't know. He'd never been on particularly good terms with his brain but the extent to which they were suddenly failing to communicate with one another seemed extreme.

"Maybe I should drive?"

Sam blinked and found himself sitting in the drivers seat of his car, "Oh."

"Where were you?"

"Um..." Sam blinked again, "I... uh..."

"I mean, you were here physically but... Sam, what were you thinking about?"

"Nothing." Sam turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb, "Nothing." As if repetition would make it so.

Josh was silent as they drove back to Sam's house. He'd always had an innate instinct that told him when Sam needed to be left alone, not to be pushed. Silence seemed to be Sam's default mode at the moment, a wall between himself and the world when everything became too hard to deal with, too complex for his brain to process at any reasonable speed.

"We're going to get drunk tonight." Sam suddenly announced, seemingly out-of-the-blue as they carried the groceries into the house.

"Okay." Josh dropped, four bags onto the breakfast bar at once, panting a little.

Sam grinned at him, "You're out of shape."

"Was I ever in shape?"

"Touché."

Once again, silence descended upon them as they worked in tandem to put the groceries away. Josh used the time to think and eventually pinpointed what had been bothering him.

"Is drinking a good idea?" He bit his lower lip, worried that he was going too far by even dipping his toe into the subjects they usually avoided at all costs. It wasn't as if either of them had ever been the most stable people they knew. They were already sailing, full speed ahead, into unchartered waters and alcohol could be a catalyst for that instability, rocking the boat and throwing them both overboard.

"It'll be fine."


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't fine. Josh knew that Sam was scared. Terrified. Shaken. Sam put all of himself into everything he did so that when something crumbled, part of Sam was destroyed along with it. His relationship with his parents had deteriorated so badly that Josh wasn't even sure that there was any kind of relationship left at all. Sam's faith in the Bartlett administration had been dealt several crushing blows, taking a lot of Sam's characteristic idealism and hope with it. His legal career didn't seem to be going much better.

Josh expected Sam to freak out. He expected him to be quiet and withdrawn. He expected him to be all those things that Sam was when he wasn't entirely sure that the ground beneath him wasn't about to split wide open and swallow him whole. When he was certain that the people around him weren't going to listen and that even when they did, they would automatically dismiss his concerns as if they were nothing. Dismiss him as if he was nothing. What Josh didn't expect was for Sam to seemingly try to drink half the bar.

They'd ended up in a dive bar somewhere in downtown LA. The walls were painted black and everything seemed shrouded in a smoky haze. There was a band, somewhere in the darkness, playing sad, bass-heavy blues; a perfect accompaniment to Sam's mood and the numerous glasses of whisky he seemed intent on downing.

Josh wasn't sure exactly where they were but he was fairly certain that Sam had picked it because it wasn't somewhere in which either of them would be recognised. It was out of character for him to even set foot in the place. Unless he was trying to channel Toby, which was always a possibility.

Sam was on his seventh Jack Daniels- definitely channelling Toby- when Josh decided that enough was enough, "We're leaving." He told Sam, in a tone that brooked no argument.

The expression on Sam's face was one of complete incomprehension. It morphed into a frown as he tried to figure out Josh's words, "Not drunk enough." He finally protested.

"You're plenty drunk, Sammy boy. C'mon buddy, lets get you outside into the fresh air, okay?" Josh hooked an arm under Sam's shoulders and helped him to his feet.

"Fresh air? In LA?" Sam mumbled and Josh laughed lightly.

"Fresher air? I dunno."

"I don't really like LA, Josh."

They were standing out in the street, the air musky and warm. Josh found himself missing Washington a little; heat at two in the morning just wasn't natural. His lungs strained against the heavy humidity and he coughed. Sam blinked at him, alarm hiding his gaze and Josh shook his head. He was fine.

"Why do you live here?" He asked.

"What?" Sam was definitely drunk. And more than a little spacey.

"If you don't like LA, why do you live in it?"

"Oh." Sam stared at the sidewalk. He kicked it viciously, if without coordination, his expression morose, "I like the beach. And the house. The house is good."

Josh nodded, "The house is good. It's not... it's not you, though."

"I didn't want it to be." Sam sighed, "I didn't want me to be me."

When Sam had bought the house, when he'd shown Josh around, that first time, it was a dump. Sam had wanted a project and fixing up a house had seemed perfect. He was beginning to wonder if he shouldn't have worked at fixing himself instead.

Finally managing to flag down a cab, Josh took hold of Sam's arm and, not unkindly, manhandled him into the back seat. He followed, giving Sam's address to the driver.

"The world's spinning." Sam mumbled, fumbling with his seat belt. Josh took pity on him and helped, strapping him in like he would a small child.

"Do you think you're going to be sick?" Josh asked gently.

The cab driver shot a look of alarm in their direction but Sam shook his head. His face paled as he did so and he sat stock still for the remainder of the journey but he was true to his word, the car remaining vomit-free.

The drive seemed to take ages but they finally arrived outside Sam's house and Josh forked over the exorbitant fee that the cab driver demanded. Sam stumbled as he exited the car and Josh grabbed him, keeping him upright.

"Woah, careful there, buddy!"

"'M okay."

"Yeah, not so much."

Wrapped tightly around each other, they stumbled into the house. Sam was significantly more inebriated than Josh but the latter had never been able to hold his liquor and was starting to feel slightly nauseous.

"Ugh." He clapped a hand over his mouth, then looked questioningly at Sam, who rolled his eyes.

Pushing his friend in the direction of the bathroom, he said, "Go."

Josh went.

When he staggered back out, he looked around for Sam, expecting to see him passed out on the couch but he seemed to have disappeared. Josh span in a circle, regretting the movement instantaneously, before a gust of wind through the back door caught his attention.

Sam was sitting outside on the veranda, mirroring his earlier position, staring vacantly out into the darkness that consumed the beach at night. Josh dropped down next to him, his movements slow and exaggerated in the manner of the somewhat inebriated.

"You okay?" He asked quietly. Now that he was still, a breeze coming off the water to rifle through his hair, he was beginning to sober up.

Sam leant against Josh and said nothing, merely shaking his head in the negative.

Josh sighed, "Yeah, I thought as much." He wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders, "You cold?" He asked. Sam shook his head. Josh looked down at him, "Not up for talking,

huh, buddy?"

"Not really." Sam's voice was small and too quiet but at least it was there.

It hurt, Josh realised, to see Sam like this. His mental image of Sam was still a young, carefree Princeton graduate, out to change the world. Sam was idealistic, annoyingly bright, one of the finest minds of his generation, and so, so pretty. This Sam was thin and worn down and burnt out. Disillusioned. Sam without hope was like Sam without words; too terrifying to contemplate.

"Do you still write?"

Sam gave the tiniest nod in response and Josh let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. That was, at least, something.

After a while, Josh's back began to ache and they moved to a more comfortable position. Josh with his back against the wall of the house, Sam between his legs, leaning back against his chest. Josh wrapped his arms around Sam, pulling him as close as possible.


	4. Chapter 4

Hours later, neither Josh, nor Sam, had moved. The sun began to rise and dawn broke over the ocean. Josh couldn't help a sharp intake of breath as he observed the sheer beauty of the scene before him. Sam twisted in his arms, flashing him a weak grin, before turning back, gaze fixated on the horizon.

"What're you thinking about?" Josh found himself whispering, not daring to disturb the quiet peace that had settled around them during the night.

'C.S. Lewis."

"C.S. Lewis? Really?"

"Yeah, he, uh, he called pain 'God's megaphone to rouse a deaf world'. He meant that... that change often comes about because people see the pain and suffering of others and they want to do something about it." Sam sighed, "I guess that makes pain worthwhile. It means something. Whether you believe in God or not, pain is still an instrument of change. But sometimes... sometimes that change is negative. Someone gets hurt and they lash out. They leave their partners, they ignore their parents and their friends, they start wars... People don't commit suicide because they want to die, Josh. They do it because they want the pain to end."

"You've thought about this a lot."

"Yeah." Sam's voice shook, "I don't... I don't want to kill myself."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's just... sometimes, I wonder. I... I'm not okay, Josh. I haven't been okay since... since I found out about my father. Maybe even before that." Sam's eyes were clouded with fear and tears began to stream down his cheeks.

Josh could feel Sam shaking and pulled him closer, wrapping his arms tightly around his friend, "Since Rosslyn, maybe?" He asked in a whisper.

Sam just nodded, his sobs intensifying. Josh sighed, trying to think back to the months after the shooting. He tried to remember whether Sam had seemed to be dealing with it. Finding his memory lacking in that regard, he shook his head sadly.

"I should have noticed."

"No." Sam shook his head firmly, his eyes drying as he turned to face Josh, his expression determined. "No, you needed to concentrate on getting better. I was okay."

"Clearly, you're lying."

"I... I was okay compared to you. Even Toby wasn't..." Sam swallowed hard, blinking back more tears, "He was... He didn't say anything but I knew..."  
"Yeah."

"I was okay but then my father turned out to be the stupidest son of a bitch I've ever met. Not to mention an adulterous little..." Sam cut himself off, unwilling to say anymore, "And then it was just one thing after another. I just... I need to slow down. I need things to be quiet and okay and normal for a little while."

"Sam, I hate to have to tell you this but I don't think normal is something we have the ability to achieve."

Sam chuckled, "You're probably right there." He yawned, "It's almost morning."

"It's been morning for a while." Josh gently corrected him, checking his watch and yawning himself, "Let's go inside."

"Do we have to? It's so beautiful out here." Sam sounded so young and so full of wonder all of a sudden that Josh's heart ached.

"No. We should. But we don't have to."

"I could sit out here for hours, just watching the waves. I think the ocean should be prescribed as a cure for depression. It's reassuring, the way it just keeps going, constant and unrelenting."

"It's hypnotic."

It was cold and Josh told Sam so. He laughed and stood up. The expression on his face was one of fondness, tinged with something else that Josh couldn't identify. Sam yawned again, laughing lightly as he stumbled, falling against the door frame before righting himself, half asleep already.

Josh found himself laughing as well, feeling like a college student again, when everything had somehow seemed more dramatic, yet significantly less important. It had been years since either man had pulled an all-nighter for anything but work, yet neither of them headed for their beds. Sam moved slowly in the direction of the kitchen and Josh made a crack likening his friend's gait to that of an elderly man.

Shaking his head, Sam turned to face him, a small smile playing across his lips. For a moment, he seemed serene and completely at ease. Josh stepped forwards, enveloping him in a tight embrace. He buried his nose in Sam's hair, breathing in deeply, and said, "I think... I think you should talk to someone."

Sam breathed out hard against Josh's chest but nodded stiffly.

"Yeah."

"Yeah?" Josh gently slipped a hand under Sam's chin, titling his head upwards so he could look directly into his eyes, "You'll let me find someone, make an appointment?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Coffee?"

Sam laughed out loud at the sudden change in direction and tone, some of the tension in the air dissipating, and moved towards the kitchen.


	5. Chapter 5

"Have you called Toby yet?" Josh asked. He was standing in the middle of Sam's kitchen, looking more at home there than Sam ever had, a massive coffee mug with the words 'Gage Whitney' emblazoned on the side, clutched in his hands.

Sam shook his head mutely, focusing on the individual grains of the counter in front of him. He didn't know why he was so reluctant to tell Toby about the rather ignominious ending to his legal career. It wasn't that he felt like he'd let Toby down.

If anything, taking the position in the first place had been the point at which Toby would have felt disappointed. Neither of them liked corporate lawyers; if they had, it would have been easier for them to choose law over politics. Moreover, Sam had always felt as if he had abandoned Toby at the exact moment that he was needed the most.

Toby had repeatedly tried to assure him that he was wrong, that he could manage, that Will was the right man for the job. The right man for the job if he couldn't have Sam. He'd never made Sam feel guilty for leaving but he'd never made him feel unwanted either.

Sam was the little brother Toby had always wanted, not that he would ever admit it out loud. Although he'd been sad to lose his deputy, he'd been proud that Sam was taking a stand for the things he believed in when he'd run for Congress. He'd been proud that Sam had tried, even when the odds were stacked against him and there was no way he was ever going to win. He'd been proud.

When Sam had lost, then abandoned it all to return to a life of corporate law, Toby hadn't said a thing. Not once had he told Sam that he was running at full speed down the wrong path. He'd stood by him, knowing that he needed to figure out for himself that this was not where his heart truly belonged.

Somehow he'd know that Sam would eventually have the epiphany he needed that would set him back on the right course but that he needed to get there on his own. Sam suddenly felt sick and a wave of tiredness washed over him. It must have shown on his face because Josh looked worried, putting his mug down and walking around the breakfast bar to put a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Sam?" He quietly prompted.

"I'm okay." Sam mumbled, even as he leant heavily against his friend.

"Okay, yeah, no. You're really not."

Josh led Sam upstairs, becoming even more worried when the younger man left himself be manoeuvred without complaint, and into his bedroom. Sam's room had a completely different character to the rest of the house. Dark and cosy as opposed to modern and airy. There were thick curtains on the windows to keep the light out; Sam had never been a deep sleeper, he needed complete darkness or he'd be awake all night.

A bookcase, predictably crammed to bursting, took up one entire wall. A wardrobe stood by the end of the double bed and there was a small bedside table with more books piled upon it, Sam's cell phone resting on top. They entered the room and immediately Sam moved to the bed, sitting on the edge with a small sigh. He was pale and there were bags under his eyes.

Josh picked up the phone and said, firmly, "Call. Toby." He turned and looked at the wardrobe, "I'll find you some clothes to change into and then when you're done, you need to sleep."

"Okay."

Josh blinked in surprise, having expected a fight instead of the placid compliance that was so unlike Sam.

"Okay." He nodded and turned away, rummaging through Sam's clothes to find a pair of shorts and a plain t-shirt. When he turned back, garments in hand, Sam was staring at him, the phone in his hand. "What?"

"Did... did you tell them you were leaving? Does Toby know you're here? Does Donna know?"

"Yeah." Josh said softly, "I don't think he's too happy with me and Donna..." He trailed off, shaking his head. There had been yelling. Lots of yelling. Followed, to his surprise, with hugs and demands for regular updates.

Then, later, Toby had pulled him aside, a frown on his face and a stutter in his voice. He was worried about Sam. They'd stayed in contact after Sam had left; Toby occasionally asking for advice on a speech or in need of someone off which he could bounce ideas, Sam updating Toby on his life and sending him little bits of writing when he felt it was good enough.

Toby's anxiety had mostly stemmed from that last part. Not only had Sam's writing tailed off into little more than a trickle but it had become increasingly dark and without direction. Although Josh had known Sam the longest, Toby had always connected with him on another, higher level; Josh would always take his concerns seriously where Sam was concerned.

Sam huffed out a small laugh, "No shit."

His hands shook as he dialled Toby's number and held the phone up to his ear, his other arm wrapping itself around him stomach as if he was trying to physically hold himself together. He was close to losing control and he knew it. A swirl of emotions was digging a deep pit in the bottom of his stomach, anxiety bubbling up and threatening a hostile takeover.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam cried. The moment the call connected and he heard Toby's voice at the other end of the line, he felt moisture on his cheeks as tears began to fall from his eyes. Josh sat down next to him and wraped an arm around his shoulders, gently taking the phone from between his shaking fingers.

"Toby? It's Josh. Yeah... No, he's not. Yeah. That'd be good. Look, he needs to tell you this himself, I'm just not sure... Yeah. Yeah. Okay." He held out the phone, "Sam?"

Sam sniffed, then wiped a hand across his eyes and nodded. Josh stared at him for a second, then handed him the phone, presumably satisfied with whatever he had seen in Sam's face.

"Hey Toby." Sam's voice was small and shaky.

There was a forceful exhale of breath at the other end of the phone, "Hey, Sam."

"So, I'm not doing so well."

"No kidding."

Sam laughed, then sobered quickly, "I... I quit the firm, Toby, I..." He paused, "I just couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't be that person."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He could almost see the other man pacing around his apartment, one hand rubbing absently at his lower lip.

"Toby?" He hated the way in voice wobbled as he spoke.

"What happened?"

"I... I don't know." It felt strange saying it aloud, "I really don't know. I just got up one day and realised how much I hated it all. How much I hated myself."

He wasn't sure how accurate the past tense was in this situation but he wasn't yet willing to admit to all the feelings swirling around in his head. Not until he could at least begin to understand them a little better.

There was silence at the other end of the phone and Sam suddenly realised that Toby didn't know what to say. The fact that he had managed to stump Toby Zeigler so thoroughly that he was at a loss for words suddenly seemed hilarious, in a hysterical, losing control sort of way.

Admitting that he wasn't okay seemed like a big enough step so he said, softly, "I think I'm going to be okay. And Josh is here so..." He left that hanging, unsure of the implications but knowing that Toby would figure it out himself.

Toby's voice was equally soft as he said, "Josh is hardly a barometer for emotional stability."

It was so normal that Sam wanted to cry. Instead, he forced a small laugh from between his lips, "Then I think we should all be extremely worried for my sanity."

Josh looked indignant and Sam laughed again, "Toby... Would you and CJ like to, um, come and visit?" He covered the phone and mouthed, "Donna?" at Josh. There was a vigorous shaking of a head on the other side of the room and Sam frowned. Clearly, that was another long conversation for another time.

"That would be... good." Toby replied, sounding torn between eagerly accepting and attempting to divorce himself from any big brotherly feelings he might be experiencing.

They talked for a while longer, mostly gossip about the White House staffers, followed by a critical dissection of Santos' last speech and the many things they would have differently, much to Josh's annoyance since he had been the one who had approved that particular piece of copy. When Sam finally hung up, it was to find that Josh was still sitting with his arm around his shoulders, watching him carefully.

"I scared you." Sam said, carefully making it a statement, not a question.

Josh sighed heavily, "Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. Sam, admitting that you're not okay is a big step but I need you to be really honest with me right now, okay?"

"Okay." He tried not to be insulted at the implication that he was likely to be less than truthful.

"I know you said that you don't want to... want to kill yourself." Josh's voice trembled, "I need to know that you mean that."

"I do."

"Have you thought about it?"

"Yes." He whispered so quietly that even he wasn't sure that he'd heard the word leave his mouth.

"You know... Leo said something to me once, it was about holes and friends and... um... I don't really remember. The point of the story was that when you're in a hole, you need a friend to jump in and show you the way out."

"Okay..."

"I'm not going to insult you by telling you that I know how you're feeling because I don't. There's no possible way that I could. What I do know is that you need to keep telling me how you feel. You need to keep letting me in. I need to know that you're going to do that."

"I don't know if I can." Sam's words were slow and deliberate. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, leaning forwards, "This is so difficult."

"I know. God, I know. Feeling like your brain is turning against you, as if you're no longer in control of your own thoughts; it's terrifying and it's so easy to hide inside yourself and not let anyone in. But you absolutely have to let someone in. It doesn't have to be me but it needs to be someone. Sam, you can get through this. I have faith in you. You're so strong and smart and good. Sam, you're a better man than I am and you can do this." Josh took a deep breath, "Please tell me that some of that made sense."

"I... yes... It's just so hard to... believe it or to even contemplate being able to talk about any of this when I don't even know what _this_ is myself! There's too much and I can't think properly about it and I'm not used to being unable to express myself and it scares me."

"Sam, breathe."

His last few sentences had all left his mouth in one mammoth rush, as if expelled on a single breath of air. He sat quietly on the bed, breathing hard, eyes wide as he realised what he'd said.

"Woah. That was a lot of honestly right there."

"Yeah. And it's a great start. You need to keep telling me things like that, okay?"

"Yeah."


	7. Chapter 7

Josh managed to persuade Sam that he needed to go to bed. He yawned and acquiesced quietly, quickly, too quickly, pulling on the clothes that Josh had gathered for him, slipping under the covers and falling asleep almost instantaneously. 

Curled up, arms crossed protectively over his chest, face slack, devoid of the fear and pain that had characterised his every waking moment of late, Sam looked so young. 

Too young.

Josh sighed and left, resisting the urge to sit and watch his friend all night. He sat in the spare bedroom for a while, staring at the opposite wall, trying to figure out what he should do. He wasn't used to being the strong one. 

His job was to have the meltdowns; Sam's was to sit beside him and tell him that it was all going to be all right, spinning beautiful, smart words and phrases; a poetry of hope that made Josh feel like the luckiest, safest man in the world.

He was, Josh supposed, in a uniquely fortunate position to help Sam, having been through a lot of this himself; not, perhaps, in the same context but he knew what it was like to have your brain turn against you. That knowledge didn't make it any easier.

Josh loved Sam. Like a brother, like a best friend, like a soul mate. Sam was the centre of his ever turbulent universe. He was important, in so many ways, and Josh was beginning to wonder if he had let him down. 

Less who watches the watchers, more who cares for the carers? He'd always seen Sam's inability not to care, to worry, to strive to be the best friend he could possibly be as a strength. It could, he realised, just as easily become a weakness, a burden, one not easily shouldered. 

If he had been a man who trusted in himself, he would have vowed, in that moment, to never again let Sam down. As it was, he could only ever promise himself that he would do better, try harder, be more present in Sam's life.

The guest room was as terrifyingly neat as the rest of the house; Josh knew it would never remain that way as long as he was sleeping in it. He couldn't help a small grin at the idea that he could make his own mark on Sam's house, his own imprint on his friend's life.

There was a small noise in the doorway and Josh looked up to see said friend leaning against the door-jamb, eyes half closed, expression perturbed, "I can't sleep."

"Yeah?" Josh's voice was light, gentle even, "You think maybe that has something to with the standing up and lack of bed?"

Sam snorted, blinking as he jolted himself out of his semi-aware state and into reality, "Josh..." He whined.

"Well, what do you expect me to be able to do about it?"

"I don't know." Sam pouted.

"Oh God, no, stop with the adorable..." Josh smirked, "Okay, come here."

Sam sank down beside him on the bed, laying his head on Josh's shoulder, "I missed you." He said quietly, "After I left the White House. We never talk like we used to; I started wondering if I could even call you my best friend any more." He sounded heartbroken and Josh slipped an arm around his waist, squeezing tight.

"Always." Josh took a deep breath and a chance, "I love you and I'm never going to stop loving you. There is nothing that could ever mean that I stopped being your best friend. Nothing."

Sam leant even further into Josh's side; the older man held him tightly, close and safe, rubbing a hand in soothing circles on his back. Sam felt an unfamiliar feeling of calm rush through his veins and let out a happy sigh. 

Calm hadn't always been unfamiliar, although in the White House it had become a phenomenon that was rare in the extreme.

As a younger man, calm had come in a myriad of situations; even rushed off his feet he had been able to find a certain balance of emotion, happy in the knowledge that he was doing something important, that there was, at the end, a goal that mattered. Lately, that goal had seemed unreachable, unknowable and terrifying in its obscurity.

"I..." He started, then stopped again, unsure of where to begin. His thoughts were a jumbled mess and he paused to unravel some of them, looking for the root of his problems, "I feel useless."

"Okay."

"It's not... I don't think it's because I left. I made that choice and I stand by it. That job was wearing me down; I started to hate it and I didn't want to feel that way about something I loved so much. Something I cared about so much. I didn't want to start hating the people; you, CJ, Toby, Donna..."

"No one in their right mind could hate Donna. Although for some reason crazy people who shouldn't be allowed within five feet of pens and paper think that they do."

Sam smiled, "I think that's exactly my point, Josh."

"Oh. Yeah."

"I'm in... I was in the wrong job with the wrong people in the wrong place. Although I can't deny that a house on the beach is clearly the best way to live."

"Too much sand." Josh replied automatically, smiling proudly as it elicited a snort of laughter from Sam, "Way, way too much sand. Messy."

"I've seen your office, you can't complain about mess, man."

"Yeah."

They sat in companionable silence for a while. The day came and went, and so did the night. Life carried on in that curious way it has of doing so in even the most extreme of circumstances.


	8. Chapter 8

A new day dawned and, although he hadn't slept, Sam was suddenly rejuvenated, full of energy. Josh, exhausted though he was, found it contagious and intoxicating. This was the Sam he remembered from their younger years; seemingly invincible, filled with words and ideas, bounding from one adventure to the next like an insatiable puppy.

Josh found himself almost afraid to broach the subject of therapy, worried that Sam's new joie de vivre would all die a violent death if he did. Still, he pulled out his laptop and did what he did best; research. 

As soon as breakfast had been eaten and coffee had been drunk, Sam had grabbed one of his ever-present yellow legal pads and curled up in an armchair, scribbling furiously.

After a while, Sam raised his head and regarded Josh soberly, "We never talked about why you left Washington."

The non sequiteur surprised him into stuttering speech, "Uh. No. We didn't. Not... really."

Josh leant forwards and placed his laptop on the coffee, before resting his elbows on his knees and running his hands through his hair.

"You said you felt... disillusioned? But that's not it, is it? Not entirely."

"I..." Josh thought about denying it or evading the question completely, but decided that he needed to be honest here, "I was..." The words stuck in his throat and he coughed, "I was lonely."

Sam looked indescribably sad, then, biting his lip and staring down at his legal pad as if it held all the answers to their current predicaments. His brow furrowed.

"Something happened." He finally said, "You and... and Donna?"

Josh cursed Sam's perceptive nature, "I... Yeah. It's more that... that nothing happened, I guess. I mean, we tried and... and it was... meh." He finished, unable to think of a more descriptive turn of phrase.

"Meh? Is that a technical term?" Sam arched an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Josh half-heartedly glared, "Yes." He sighed, "It was just... anti-climactic. We had... something... but it wasn't enough. I guess we took so long that whatever spark had been there was extinguished by time. We built it up into something it wasn't, a grand love story that really meant nothing, and when the time came it was all a massive disappointment."

Sam was silent as if he didn't know what to say. He bit his lip, looking sad again.

"It was like being with my sister." Josh confessed, "Weird and a little icky."

"I can understand that."

"Are you... okay?"

Sam voice was suddenly small and quiet. Too quiet.

"I'm fine."

"Sam..."

"I'm fine. Really. Just... Sad. For you, I mean. I wish it could have worked out between you two."

"Me too, I guess. It just wasn't meant to be and in the end, I think we'd be hurting ourselves more if we stayed together."

"If... If you'd stayed with her... Do you think you'd be here right now?" Sam looked terrified, as if he wanted to take the words back even as they left his mouth.

Josh stopped, unsure of the answer, "I don't know. Maybe not. But here is where I am and where I want to be. With you. I don't know why I never tried to stop you leaving in the first place. I... I was so busy and by the time I really realised what was happening... Everything had changed and you were gone and... It was really bad for a while, Sam."

"I know." Sam looked guilty, "I just couldn't do it any more. That job was killing me. I mean," He added hastily, "I loved working with you guys, I love writing and politics and having my own team, and I love the President. I truly believe that he's the real thing. It was the lies and the disillusionment and the constant lack of sleep that got to me."

"Yeah."

"I don't blame any of you for it. I don't. It's the way that the game's played. I just hate that it has to be a game in the first place."

"Yeah." Josh agreed, nodding emphatically.

"I just really needed you to know that."

"I... Thank you."

Josh couldn't think of anything else to say; the kind of honesty that Sam was engaging in wasn't easy to find in politics and it seemed like a rare gift.

They sat in comfortable, companionable silence for a while, broken only by the tapping of keys on a laptop and the scratching of pen across paper. Then, Josh found what he was looking for; the perfect therapist for Sam.

"I found someone." He said quietly.

"Huh?"

"For you to talk to. A... a therapist, I mean."

"Oh. Okay." Sam sounded as lost as Josh felt.

"His name's Dr David Ryan. I'm going to... um... call him. Okay?"

"Okay."


End file.
